


The Nowhere Dance

by slodwick



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Apocalypse, Challenge fic, M/M, timetravel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-01
Updated: 2007-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slodwick/pseuds/slodwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the people who went into the Stargate, and never came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nowhere Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alizarin_nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/gifts).



**Prologue**

Elizabeth had spent the entire morning uneasy. It was a vague feeling, nothing she could put her finger on. Just a mental black cloud that she first noticed as she sipped her coffee and read overnight shift reports. She chalked it up to a forgotten bad dream. It was persistent, though, this hint of gloom at the back of her mind, even as she approached the gate room.

Sheppard's team was headed to Earth for two weeks of leave. Teyla, looking elegant in a pale summer dress, stood next to Ronon, who was seated on the stairs. They were watching John as he paced back and forth. He was tapping his thumb and forefinger rhythmically against a denim-clad thigh, all but sighing dramatically in Rodney's direction. Elizabeth smiled; it would probably come to that.

Rodney poked again at a tablet computer, making further adjustments to some power usage figures and unsubtle digs about the intelligence of the technician standing to his left. This was just the latest in a series of excuses why he claimed he couldn't leave Atlantis. Previous reasons had included the discovery of a new species of flowering vine on the planet, a malfunctioning refrigeration unit, and an overflow problem in the city's gray water recycling center. Elizabeth knew it was more likely the prospect of spending two weeks at his sister's house that prompted Rodney's new-found devotion to city maintenance.

"Okay, Rodney," she said as crossed the room, "that's enough. Whatever it is, it can wait. Or I'm sure Radek and his team can handle it."

He reluctantly handed the computer back to the tech. Rodney looked absurd in his flowered Havana shirt, but Morgan had picked it out for him, and expected him to wear it. It was, apparently, what one wore while 'on vacation'.

"Yes, but the power coil on the south--" he began.

"Nuh-uh. No more excuses." Elizabeth nudged him towards the gate, smiling over his shoulder at a visibly relieved John. Turning back towards the control room, she gave Chuck a nod, and the gate whooshed to life. "As of this moment, you are all officially off-duty. Now go relax!"

Rodney mumbled something, and then surprised her with a clumsy hug. Elizabeth recovered quickly, patting his back and then pulling back to make little shoo-ing motions at him. "Scoot!"

She caught Teyla's eye as she passed, and winked. "Have fun! We'll see you soon."

Finally, only John was left. "Thanks, Elizabeth," he said, walking backwards into the gate. "I'll bring you back some of those cookies you like."

Later, she'd never be able to explain it, not even to herself. As John disappeared into the event horizon, that dark feeling came back, sudden and bone-deep. "Be careful, John," she said, her voice cracking. He didn't hear her.

*

During the official inquiry that would follow, Elizabeth, as well as several other members of the Atlantis team present in the gate room that day, would testify that Lt. Col. John Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, alien guest Teyla Emmagan and alien guest Ronon Dex were scheduled to, and in fact did, enter the Stargate on foot, at approximately 0900, AST, 9 April, 2009, en route to Earth. There were no apparent complications.

The transmission log at the SGC, as well as personnel present in the SGC control room, confirmed that an incoming wormhole from the Pegasus galaxy was established at 18:04, MST. What they could not confirm, however, was any sort of arrival. The gate remained open for the standard thirty-eight minutes, and then disengaged uneventfully.

Despite many months of investigation and speculation, no one was ever able to figure what went wrong. Both gates were temporarily shut down for complete diagnostics, and it was only after several test runs that people were allowed to use them again. The mystery would remain unsolved, the details classified and locked away, until everyone who had seen it first-hand or knew the people involved was long gone. The tale would be dismissed as nothing more than an SGC-style urban legend; people would repeat it in mock-hushed tones to the newbies in the hall, just before their first trip through the gate, or they'd laugh about it over too much booze at holiday parties.

The story of the people who went into the Stargate, and never came out.

*

Except that wasn’t entirely true.

* * *

**I. The Empty Gate Room**

John walked out of the gate into darkness. Confused, he paused and listened. There were shuffling noises and muttering ahead of him, so he figured he probably wasn't dead. He put an arm out into the dark, and stepped forward, moving carefully down the slight decline of the gate room floor -- and ran into the wall of Ronon's back.

"Sorry," he said, patting Ronon's shoulder. Ronon grunted in response and shifted to one side. As John's eyes adjusted, he could just make out a small blue glow some distance ahead of him -- Rodney's wristwatch. "McKay? What the hell's going on? Where is everyone?"

"How should I know? I got here thirty seconds before you did!" Which was sort of comforting, he supposed. An irritated McKay was a motivated McKay. "I don't suppose any of you has a flashlight handy?" McKay asked, his voice echoing oddly. "Ronon? Nothing stashed away in that magical hair of yours?"

"Not unless you think it might help to threaten the lights."

Rodney sighed. "This vacation sucks already."

"Can you get the lights on from here, or do you need to get to the control room?" John asked.

"There is no control room," Rodney answered.

John squinted his eyes, even though "What? What do you mean, 'no control room'?"

Teyla's voice came from the darkness to his right. "Before the wormhole closed, it illuminated part of the room. It does not appear to be the same gate room I recall from my last visit to Earth, Colonel."

"It's bigger," Ronon added. "A lot bigger."

"Okay. McKay, is it possible they dialed us a different gate? Like dialing a wrong number?"

"Of course, it's possible. And since as I have a flight to catch in Denver, I'd say that's exactly what happened. Now, if I can just--" There was a creaking noise, and then thud, and Rodney's sharp intake of breath. "Damn it!"

"The only thing we could see besides the gate was a console, similar to the ones on Atlantis," Teyla spoke softly. "I believe Dr. McKay is attempting to activate it."

"Ah-ha!" Rodney said.

John didn't need to see him to imagine the pleased expression and snapping fingers. "Did you figure it out?"

"No. I haven't been able to turn it on, actually. But if this is a console like the ones on Atlantis..."

"Then I might be able to activate it," John finished.

"It's directly in front of the gate," Rodney said. "Walk straight ahead."

John began moving forward, slowly, with his arms out. He kept his eyes trained on the faint glow of Rodney's watch, but it never appeared to get any closer. Finally, just as he was about to ask Rodney for more direction, he collided with the console. The buttons on its surface flickered on and off, on and off, and then stayed on. Far overhead, lights began to come on, casting a pale light over the room. He saw Rodney standing on the other side of the console. He was looking beyond John, gaping. John turned back toward the gate, and his mouth fell open, too.

The room was indeed different; 'vast' was probably the word to describe it. The ceiling soared high above them, and the walls extended beyond the range of the lights, fading into shadows. The floor and walls were both covered with a disturbingly smooth, steel-like material that reflected the light, and there was a gentle curve where they met. The gate itself was on a raised platform, a ramp extending from the front. The console stood about thirty feet in front of it; there were no other fixtures that he could see. There was a thick layer of dust on the floor, and John could easily trace each of their paths from the gate.

"John," Ronon said, pointing. They all followed his gaze. Leaned against the side of the room was a mummified corpse, also covered in dust. It wore a long white robe, and the front was stained a deep red.

"Call me crazy," John said. "But I don't think you're going to make that flight, buddy."

*

The console, as it turned out, was some sort of Ancient technology, though far more complex than any Rodney had seen. He alternated between hunching over the display panel and crawling beneath the console, looking at the mysterious wiring, making thoughtful noises and whispering to himself. They assumed Atlantis would send a team for them as soon as they realized the error, but Rodney wasn't one to sit and wait patiently.

John, Teyla and Ronon sat on the floor, leaning against the wall opposite the corpse. Teyla and Ronon appeared to be meditating, but John suspected Ronon was asleep.

"How's it going, McKay?"

"About the same as the last time you asked."

"Do you at least have any idea how much longer you'll be? I feel like we're stuck inside a giant mixing bowl."

"Oh!" Rodney turned around to face him. He had streaks of dust mixed with sweat on his forehead. "You want to leave? Why didn't you say so, Colonel? I was just having such a great time, it never even occurred to me to look for a way to gate back home."

"Okay, okay," John said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Just... keep working. You'll get it."

Rodney turned his attention back to the console, grumbling under his breath. A few minutes later, he looked back over at John. "I... I think I might have something."

"You can get us back to Atlantis?" Ronon asked, suddenly not asleep at all.

"Not exactly." Rodney typed a sequence into the keypad, and there was a loud rumbling somewhere behind the wall. "You, uh. You might want to get up."

The three of them scrambled to their feet as the wall they had been leaning against started to move. Somehow the seamless wall had split, and part of the wall was now sliding behind another. Beyond the wall, John could see more of the steel floor running down a long hallway, covered in withered leaves and dirt. He stepped forward. There were no lights in the hallway, but far ahead, he could see a warm, golden light shining around a corner. John imagined suddenly he could smell the ocean. Maybe he was more claustrophobic than he thought. "Well," he said. "I guess we could stretch our legs a little."

John led the way down the hall, but stopped midway when something caught his eye. They all stopped. The letters on the sign were faded, but still completely legible: LVL 28 GATE ROOM / AUTH PERSONNEL ONLY

"Oh, no." Rodney turned, and started walking back toward the gate room. "No, no, no."

He moved so fast, John had to jog a little to catch up. "McKay! What is it?"

Rodney didn't seem to hear him. He crossed the room and stood in front of the console, running his fingers over buttons with symbols John didn't recognize. "This is bad. So, so bad."

John grabbed his shoulder, gripping harder than he meant to, and spun Rodney around to face him. "What's bad?" John was nearly shouting. "Tell me what the hell is going on!"

Rodney's eyes kept moving, looking first to John, then over his shoulder at Ronon and Teyla, then down the hall, and finally back to John. His voice was quiet. "Time travel. We jumped in time."

* * *

**II. The Ruins of Colorado**

"It happened once before," Rodney said. "I read the report. SG1 was thrown back in time by a solar flare several years ago."

"So, this is fixable?" John asked. "We can go back? Or... or they can track us, find out where we are, right?"

"No." Rodney leaned onto the console, hanging his head low. "No. The only way they got back was because General Hammond gave Sam the exact times and dates of the solar flares they needed to gate home themselves. From the looks of this technology and the building materials," Rodney gestured at the walls, "we're somewhere in the future."

"Can't you figure it out?" Ronon asked.

 

"Oh, sure, and then I'll read all your palms. No, I can't figure that out!" Rodney pushed away from the console, and started pacing, his feet leaving a series of dashed lines in the dust. "A person can't just predict solar flares out of thin air! I'd need all sorts of equipment and data, and even then, I'm not sure how precise it would be." He leaned against a wall, and slid to the floor, his face blank. "We're stuck here."

"John?" Teyla was standing at the doorway, looking down the hall. "If we really are on Earth, in the future... where is everyone?"

*

Once again, John led them down the hall. As they walked, John was struck again by the phantom smell of salt on the air. When he rounded the corner, though, he realized it wasn't his imagination. Four or five feet ahead of where they stood, the smooth floor ended abruptly in a gnarl of sharp edges, as though it had been ripped in half. Beyond what was left of the hallway, John could see dark rocks on all sides. Standing at the edge of the rocks, he found himself looking down at the rugged face of what must have once been the center of Cheyenne Mountain. It cascaded down into a densely packed forest, and beyond the forest, stretching out as far as he could see, was an ocean. The water glittered in the evening sunshine, beautiful and terrifying.

They stood there for a while, the four of them, not speaking. It was so quiet; there were no airplanes overhead, no traffic. There was only sound of the wind. A pair of huge birds drifted passed them, gliding effortlessly through the air.

Ronon was the first to see the smoke. "Look," he said, pointing at a clearing in the forest midway between them and the ocean. A single narrow column of white smoke rose up into the sky. "A fire that size means people."

John nodded. "That's where we'll go, then."

"I believe it will be dark soon," Teyla said. Her face was pale, but her voice was calm. "The climb down may be difficult. Perhaps we should stay here for the night, and leave at first light?"

"Sounds like a plan." John glanced over at Rodney, who was still staring at the ocean. He looked completely wrecked -- not indignant or irritated, or even afraid. Rodney looked hopeless, and that frightened John more than anything else. "Everyone back to the gate room."

*

None of them slept well that night. They slid the door closed, but lay on the far side of the gate, just in case. The floor was hard and cold; even side-by-side, John could feel the heat being sapped out of him through his t-shirt. He'd given Teyla his jacket to keep her from shivering, and a selfish part of him now regretted it.

When he did manage to sleep, John dreamt he was back on Atlantis. He was standing in the tower, alone, looking out at the endless ocean. There was a column of smoke rising from the south pier (a fire that size meant people), and he wanted to move, to go down there, but there was a menacing fog moving over the water. As he watched, the fog surrounded Atlantis, cutting her off completely. When it finally slipped inside, the fog obscured the rooms and the hallways, until finally, everything, including John, just faded away.

*

John woke from his disturbing dream alone, and panicked. He reached for his sidearm, but stopped when he realized where he was, what he was doing. He stood carefully, brushing the dust off himself and looking around. There was no sign of Ronon and Teyla, but Rodney was there, behind the console. He looked ragged and pale, and he seemed to be talking to himself again.

The door was open, so John walked towards it. He didn't expect an answer, but it felt wrong to pass and not say anything, so he stopped near the console. "Did you sleep at all, Rodney?"

"Hmm?" Rodney angled his face toward John, but his eyes never left the panel in front of him. There were a series of symbols repeating over and over. "Oh. Yes, fine. Like a frightened baby."

There didn't seem to be a good answer to that -- 'Oh, well, that's great, Rodney'? -- so John turned and continued down the hallway instead. About halfway down, he smelled something. Something _delicious_. Until that moment, John hadn't realized how hungry he was. What had been a mild ache before turned suddenly to something far more desperate.

Turning the corner, he saw a small campfire perched at the edge of the rock opening. Teyla and Ronon were sitting on either side of the fire, and something bird-sized was roasting on a spit. John practically tripped over his feet to get closer. He knelt next to the fire, relishing the warmth of the flames and the sunshine. He watched as Ronon cut a ragged slice for him without being asked. The three of them ate in silence for a while, and then Teyla disappeared back down the hallway with some food for Rodney.

"How long has he been like that?" John asked, holding his hands up to the fire.

"I came out here to get some food before sunrise." Ronon leaned back against the rock wall. "He was standing there when I woke up."

"Jesus." John pulled a hand through his hair, and down over his jaw, already covered in stubble. His eyes scanned the forest, but there was no smoke today. "Aw, man. How are we supposed to find the people now?"

"There," Ronon said. He was pointing at the water, and John saw two small boats some distance from shore. "Fisherman. We find them."

* * *

**III. A New Life**

~ Three years later ~

John walked around the perimeter of the field. The grass was wet with morning dew, and it slid slick across his bare feet. His crop was doing well, leafy and green. Another few weeks and it would be ready for harvest -- or so Elder Marek informed him. As many times as he'd been told, John still couldn't tell one bean from another.

He walked back to his small cabin, where a basket sat next to the door, a bit of cloth over the top. Peeking inside, John was pleased to see half a dozen pieces of fruit. The villagers called them paemas -- they had the same look and consistency of an apple, but they were far sweeter. They could be cooked many different ways, but John always preferred to eat them raw.

Slipping one into his pocket, he took two more inside, and put them inside a bag near his bed. The other three he left in the basket, and to them he added one of the wheat cakes Elder Marek's wife had made for him, and then covered the basket with the cloth once again. After lowering the shutter over his window -- both to keep out the insects and to block the afternoon heat later -- he turned to the east and starting running towards the sun.

*

The sand on the beach was dark brown and fine, and it stuck to his damp feet as he walked. Ahead of him, a woman sat on the beach, watching a figure in the water, swimming parallel to the shore. When the figure waved, John waved back. He could have been out there surfing with Ronon, but he'd overslept that morning.

"He is happy as a child out there," Shaeli said as he approached.

John dropped down next to her, only a little winded. He crossed his legs, careful to keep his sandy feet off her blanket. "I suppose I should apologize for teaching him in the first place."

"No," she said, smiling. "His happiness is my own."

"Well, I'll tell you what," John said, eying her round stomach. "You hurry up and have that kid, and I'll get you on a board, too."

Shaeli laughed, and her eyes sparkled. "I will remember that, John. And when Ronon and I go surfing together, I suppose _you_ will care for our child?"

"Huh." John tilted his head. "There's something wrong with this plan."

Neither of them had noticed Ronon coming out of the water until he had nearly reached them. It was still a shock to see him with short hair, even though it had been more than a year since his union with Shaeli. He stood next to the blanket and shook himself, sending salt-water flying all over them both. At their squawks of disapproval, Ronon grinned hugely.

"A child is about right," John said, but he was grinning, too.

Ronon took a seat next to his wife; he leaned in and kissed her temple, and let his hand drift to her stomach. They shared a smile, and John waited, pretending to watch the surf, until Ronon turned his gaze to him. "How long have you been out there?"

"Only a couple hours."

"I can't believe you got up so early. I must be getting old."

 

"Getting?" Ronon deftly dodged the clump of sand that flew his way. "I think it has more to do with the wine you drank last night."

"I didn't drink that much!"

"You fell in the river."

Shaeli giggled. "I have seen small children with more grace."

"Et tu, Shaeli?" John feigned his best wounded expression, placing a hand over his heart. "But that explains why my clothes smelled like mud. But it's Teyla's union, a time for celebration. If someone hands me a cup, it would be rude to say no."

"You know, John," Shaeli said. "If you would take a wife of your own, she could keep you from drinking too much."

John groaned and fell backwards on the blanket, covering his face with one arm. "Not _this_ again."

"There are women in the village who would join with you, if you asked." Shaeli lifted his arm to look him in the eye. "And you are no young man. I do not understand why you wait; a union could bring you such happiness."

Shaeli paused to glance at Ronon, who looked embarrassed. She gave him a nudge. "Uh, yeah. Marriage is great. You should try it."

John stood up, but Shaeli caught his hand. "The Heavenly Ones guided us all to take partners for a reason. There is no need for a man to be as lonely, or as _sad_, as you are."

She paused, looking at him with such concern in her eyes. "The elders are worried about you, John. They feel you have never truly committed to life here, and they are afraid will become... like him."

John looked out at the ocean and said nothing. When he walked away, neither tried to stop him.

*

The trail up the mountain was narrow, but well worn. This was the first time John had climbed it in nearly two years, but Rodney came down to the village to restock fairly regularly. He never contributed to the community in any tangible way, spending all his time holed up in the cave (as John thought of it), so they rest weren't inclined to share much with him. John usually set aside some of his own shares for Rodney, but Rodney didn't know that.

He usually came to John's cabin mid-morning, when John was likely to be out working or hunting, or near dusk, giving himself just enough time to climb back up the mountain before dark. Whenever they did talk, Rodney wasn't really there. John could almost see him inching towards the door.

By the time John reached the mouth of the cave, the sun was high in the sky. The air was heavy and humid, and despite a near-constant ocean breeze, sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. The entrance looked smaller than he remembered, dark and foreboding. It was no wonder the children of the village thought it haunted.

John made his way down the hallway, and when reached the door the gate room, he stopped. He couldn't believe what he saw. Nearly every surface was filled with Rodney's narrow handwriting; the walls and the floors were covered in equations and diagrams, written in greasy black ink. It spread outward from one central location: the console. It was less of an island now, and more like ground zero.

John walked into the room, trying to walk carefully around the writing. He saw a stack of blankets shoved haphazardly against the wall, along with a couple empty baskets he recognized. The console itself was covered in papers; each sheet looked old and painfully brittle. John lifted one corner to see the display panel. It was cycling through a set of unfamiliar symbols, over and over, like a pattern.

"Don't! Don't touch anything!"

Rodney came rushing from the other end of the room. He was much thinner now, but a scraggly beard helped to round out his face; his hair was thin and wild, fluttering above his head when moved like feathers. For a moment, John had a flash of Zelenka, but he forced the memory away. Rodney brushed passed John, carefully edging the papers back into place and running his fingers over everything, as if confirming that nothing had been disrupted. "What do you want?"

"Nice to see you, too, McKay."

"Forgive me for not bothering with social niceties, but I'm a little busy here."

John looked again at the writing everywhere. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Yes, well." Rodney pressed some buttons on the console, and the symbols cycled through at a faster rate. "It's no farm, but we can't all sit around growing beans, Colonel." When John didn't answer, Rodney finally turned to face him.

"I asked you not to call me that anymore."

"Right." Rodney looked down, away. "Sorry. I just-- I'm so much closer."

"I've heard that before."

"Yes, I know, and I've thought it before. But this time, oh, yes, I'm almost positive now." Rodney pointed his finger at the stack of papers. "I found those in the storage vault." When John didn't answer, he continued. "Do you know what those are?"

John sighed. "What are they?"

"The Cheyenne Mountain weather records for the last three hundred and fifty _years_. You know, minus the last hundred or so years, since they all... died."

"Okay. And how is that supposed to help?"

"It's possible that, with the right analysis, I could extrapolate when and where solar flares occurred in the past. It might take a while, and no one's ever been able to do it before, but I could possibly use that data to predict another one."

John clenched his jaw and tried very hard to stay calm. "Do you know what today is, McKay?"

Rodney looked confused. "Well, I..." He blinked. "Thursday?"

"Actually, it's a Sunday, but that's not what I meant. Teyla's union ceremony was last night, McKay. You missed the entire week."

"Oh." Rodney was quiet for a moment, and then he got the same arrogant look he used to on Atlantis. "Well, it's not like anyone wants me there anyway. I mean, I'm happy for Teyla, please do pass on my congratulations, but obviously, finding a way for us to get home is more impor--"

The punch surprised John as much as it did Rodney. He watched as Rodney stumbled backward; he probably would have hit the floor if he hadn't run into the console. A stack of papers scattered across the floor. Rodney stared at John in shock, one cupping his face. "You _hit_ me!" His voice cracked in the middle, so great was his outrage.

"Damn it, McKay, _enough._ There is no going back. This is our life now, like it or not." John paced back and forth, shaking his sore right hand.

"Teyla and Ronon, they've done all right for themselves, but they've been through this before. They've got experience starting over when everything they care about has been wiped out." John stopped pacing. He stepped closer, grabbing hold of Rodney's shoulders. Rodney, to his credit, only flinched a little. "But this is all completely new to me, and it's harder than anything I've ever done."

His spoke quietly, his voice low and rough. "You're the only one who could go through this with me. And you left me alone."

John turned then and walked away -- away from Rodney's shocked face, away from the piles of useless paper and psychotic scribbling on the wall. He walked out of the cave, down the mountain, and into the village, and he tried very hard to want to be there.

* * *

**IV. A New Plan**

John was sullen and withdrawn for the next week. He stayed in his cabin, alone, for days at a stretch. Teyla brought some lentil soup for him, but he wouldn't answer the door. Shaeli wanted Ronon to go inside and check on him, but Ronon insisted it was not their place. Instead, he tended John's crop for him, pulling weeds and irrigating the beans as best he could, and giving John space.

One morning, though, he walked into the field to see John standing there. He looked rested and calm, not at all the frazzled crazy person his wife feared he'd become. "Hey."

"Hey," Ronon answered. He held up a bucket. "I brought water."

"Oh, great!" John rushed over and grabbed the bucket.

Ronon watched as John poured the water carefully over the field. "John?"

John stopped and turned to face him. He nodded once. "I'm okay."

Ronon nodded back. "Okay."

*

The dam had been Teyla's idea. It was something her people had attempted on Athos, but the Wraith had come before work could be completed. Once the elders gave their permission, she and John worked together, sketching their plans on a rock wall near the village center, and before long, a small group of villagers volunteered to help.

Once they found the spot -- a wide clearing at the base of a grassy hill in the forest, where runoff from the mountain drained -- it was a simply matter of hollowing a trench and forming a solid earth wall to trap the water in it. It sounded easier than it was; the ground was hard and littered with buried rocks. John, Teyla and Ronon, along with several other villagers, spent an entire morning digging with makeshift shovels, occasionally unearthing stones as big as his head and moving them to a spot nearby.

John was walking back towards the trench, sweat dripping down his back, when he noticed everyone staring in his direction. "What is--", he began to ask, turning and looking behind him, but he stopped mid-sentence.

Rodney was standing at the top of the hill, looking very uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, crossed and uncrossed his arms. "You're building, uh, something. What is that you're building?"

John just kept staring.

"It is a dam," Teyla answered.

John blinked. He couldn't believe Rodney was really there. "Right. A dam." He paused. "For water."

He nearly laughed out loud when Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, a dam for _water_. How original."

Rodney walked carefully down the hill, and along the edge of the trench. He was talking to John, but very obviously not looking at him. "Tell me you're not using those terrible plans I saw sketched in the village. That was just some child's joke, right? Because that will never, ever work."

John sighed. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be insulted on a regular basis. "Did you just come down here to mock us, McKay?"

"No." Rodney was close now, and he finally looked up at John. His expression was a strange combination of fear and hope. "I came down here to help."

They locked eyes for a moment, saying nothing, until John extended his arm, handing Rodney his shovel. "Welcome to the team."

*

Rodney spent an hour pointing out the flaws in their plan, but more importantly, he pointed out ways to fix it. The group worked all day, through the humid afternoon, until it was nearly dark. Their bodies sore and sweaty, John decided they'd made enough progress for one day. He sent everyone else home, and he and Rodney went back to his cabin. The temperature in the forest dropped quickly once the sun dipped behind the mountain, so John set about making a fire, and then warmed two wheat cakes over the flames. They sat on opposite sides of the fire, eating in silence.

John looked up. The night sky was brilliant, undisturbed by man-made light. It was humbling and strangely comforting to see all those stars -- all those worlds -- staring back at him. There were even some familiar constellations up there. "It's not all bad here," John said quietly.

He glanced over the fire at Rodney, who was looking up at the sky, too. "I never really looked before," he said. "It reminded me too much of home. Or Atlantis, I guess."

"I know what you mean. I miss it, too."

"You know what I miss the most? Well, not the _most_ most, but a lot?"

"Coffee?"

"God, yes."

John laughed and stretched out on his side next to the fire, cradling his head on his arm. "I miss television. Well. Football."

Rodney mirrored him, lying down on his back, looking up. "Oh, Italian food! I miss Italian food. Especially alfredo sauce."

"I guess I miss golf, too. Golf was fun."

"I miss Twinkies."

John grinned over at him. "We didn't have any Twinkies on Atlantis, McKay."

"Yes, and I missed them then, too! But at least there was always the promise of Twinkies, at some point."

"So, you miss the _promise_ of stale lemon sponge cake and artificial vanilla frosting?"

"Now you're just being mean."

"No, no. I bet there are still Twinkies out there. They're like cockroaches. I don't think the world can ever truly be rid of them."

They lay there for a while, not talking. John felt like he might drift off to sleep. When he spoke again, his words were slurred with weariness. "I miss flying."

Rodney rolled up to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was my first love, you know? There's nothing like it, Rodney -- moving through the air like that. That's freedom." John let his eyes slip closed as he spoke; he imagined the blue, blue sky around him, and the gentle curve of the horizon ahead. "I'll never have it again."

If Rodney said anything else, John didn't hear it.

*

John woke up with sunlight in his eyes. Rodney was nowhere to be seen. He sat up and brushed the dirt from his face and hair. His neck was killing him. The fire had apparently gone out sometime during the night, but he'd slept soundly.

Behind the cabin was a basin of rainwater. John splashed his face and washed as much of the sweat and dirt of the previous day as he could from his skin. He called out for Rodney, but got no answer. He poked his head into the cabin, but it was empty.

By the time John got back to the worksite, several other villagers were already there. He asked about Rodney, but no one had seen him. John was a little worried, so he walked the width of the village, and then he jogged the path from the village to the beach. Rodney was just gone.

As he walked back towards the village, with the sun shining warm on his back, casting the entire valley in orangey-gold, he saw something glittering about half-way up the mountain. His heart sank as he watched the figure climb the path and disappear in to the cave.

* * *

**V. The Reveal**

Once again, seeing Rodney left John in a dark mood, but it didn't stop him from working. In fact, it made him work _harder_. He was the first one on the worksite each morning and the last to leave. The days were hot, and they worked with no shade; he worked until his muscles burned, until he knew he'd fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Anything to keep his mind off what happened with Rodney. He still left bundles of food outside his door, though.

They finished the dam five days later. Long tables were lined up in the village center, with bonfires lit at either end, and the whole village dined on a feast of wild fowl and fish, spiced paema pudding and a lot of wine. Not only were they celebrating the completion of the dam, but also Shaeli had given birth the night before to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. They named her Emma, to honor Teyla.

The new parents made the rounds with little Emma, greeting everyone and accepting flowers and kisses. John had never seen a father more proud; Ronon was, well, _glowing_. He talked and laughed more than he'd ever done before, and there were many toasts given in their honor. John raised his cup every time, and put on a smile. Teyla's wife Ladir presented them both with something called a Hope Ring, a traditional Athosian gift, which Teyla had shown her how to make. It reminded John of the dreamcatchers people would hang above their beds. Ronon hugged Ladir, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around, which made her squeal, and Teyla throw back her head and laugh, deep and lovely.

When the food was gone, and most of the wine, too, it seemed like no one would notice, so John slipped away. He walked the path through the woods mostly by memory. It was chilly and damp, but he passed his cabin without stopping. He kept going until he reached the ocean. The dark sand seemed to absorb the moonlight, and it was like walking on a frosty shadow.

John sat down and looked up at the sky, but the moon and stars were obscured by a thin layer of clouds; instead, he looked straight ahead, towards an endless ocean he couldn't see. He listened to the steady roll of the waves, and timed his breaths with them. He plunged his hands into the sand, opening and closing them, and feeling the sand slip out of his grasp, over and over, until everything faded away.

*

"Sheppard."

Someone was shaking him. John frowned and blinked his eyes against the gray pre-dawn light, trying to clear his vision. "McKay?"

Rodney was looking at him like he had lost his mind. "What are you doing out here?"

John sat up, his back aching in protest. "I was looking for my golf ball, and... what does it look like, McKay? I fell asleep." Rodney reached down to help him stand, but John brushed his hand away. "The better question is, what are _you_ doing out here?"

"I was looking for you. You weren't in your cabin."

"Well, here I am. What is it?" John did his best to look gruff, but it was early and he'd slept on the beach. He was sure he just looked tired.

"I want to show you something." Rodney gestured over his shoulder, at the cave.

"I'm not going up there again. I told you, I've had enough."

"But you have to. I need you to." Rodney stared at him, and his eyes were wide, and so, so blue. John wondered how he had never noticed. "Please, John?"

He wanted to say no, but what he said instead was, "Okay, Rodney. Okay."

*

There was a storm coming over the ocean, and John thought Mother Nature had a twisted sense of humor. They walked through the forest together, Rodney walking slightly ahead; the strong sent of wildflowers permeated the air, slightly nauseating in his hungover state. John did mental inventory of everything that hurt. Back? Check. Head? Absolutely. Eyeballs? Yes, if your definition of hurt included a weird cottony itch. He tried very much not to blame Rodney for his misery, even though it _was_ basically his fault.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice Rodney had turned, leaving the usual path, until his hand wrapped around John's wrist. "This way."

"What? I thought you wanted to show me something."

"I do."

"Then where are we--"

"Sheppard, would you just shut up and follow me? It'll be easier that way." He turned and marched into the forest, calling over his shoulder, "You don't look like you're in a condition to process much anyway."

John gave the back of Rodney's head a withering glare, but he knew Rodney was probably right. A well-timed rumble of thunder in the distance made him feel better.

After about ten minutes, during which time John could swear they doubled back over their own trail, the forest opened up. Rodney stopped and pointed. "There."

At first John didn't understand what he was seeing. He rubbed at his eyes, in case it was some sort of hallucination. "Is that... is that what I think it is?"

"Well, I can't read your mind, Sheppard, so I'll just tell you, it's a hang glider." Rodney blushed, and waved his hand in the direction of the glider. "I... it's not the same as flying a plane, I know, but you seemed so sad. I thought this might... help."

They walked closer to the glider. John circled around it, admiring Rodney's work. It looked solid, but also surprisingly elegant, with its body of silver tubing and it's shimmery white wingspan; his name was painted in dark blue letters across the canopy. John didn't know how to react; there were a thousand responses running through his mind. He settled on smiling like an idiot. "You made this for me?"

"Yes."

John stepped under the canopy, running his hand over the slick fabric, which was like nothing he'd felt before. "What _is_ this?"

"I don't know for sure what its original purpose was, but I think it was a sort of parachute."

John crouched down and ran his hands along the tubing. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"That, uh," Rodney looked up at the shifting trees as he spoke. "Those were the supports from the console, in the gate room."

Yet again, John was dumbstruck. Rodney had disassembled the console to build a glider. For him.

"Does it fly?" he finally asked.

"Well, I'm not the pilot," Rodney scoffed. "However, considering the brilliance of the designer, I have to assume that it will, yes."

John grinned up at him. "I guess we'll have to test it."

*

 

Unfortunately, the storm moved in quickly, quashing any hopes they had for a test flight. They left the glider in the forest, and didn't quite make it back to John's cabin before the rain began to fall. John handed Rodney a dry tunic, and lit a fire while Rodney changed. Then he put a pot over the flames and cut up some vegetables for a stew, which he left Rodney to stir while he changed. Rodney was the first other person to be inside John's cabin, and he felt naked even after he was dressed in dry clothes.

As the stew simmered, John laid their clothes by the fireplace to dry. The two of them then sat on the dirt floor side by side, warming themselves. They talked about the glider, and how Rodney had built it. He'd found the necessary equipment in the back of the storage vault, preserved for generations, and with some 'genius work', he'd rigged the power supply to make the machines work. As the rain poured down and thunder crashed overhead, they talked about the dam, both its completion and whether or not it would hold this first rain. And they talked about the celebration, and Ronon's new daughter.

"I still have a hard time imaging _him_ with a little baby," Rodney said, between bites of stew.

"Believe me, seeing it doesn't make it any easier to believe," John said, chuckling.

When they finished eating, John stretched out on his bed. He cupped his hands over this full stomach, and relished in the simple pleasure of relaxation. He wasn't tired as much as he was weary from so many days of heat and work. He hadn't even realized he'd shut his eyes until he felt the bed dip next to him.

"McKay?"

"There's plenty of room. I don't see why you should be the only one who gets to use the bed."

"Because it's _my house_?"

"Just scoot over, Sheppard."

He did.

* * *

**VI. The Maiden Flight**

John dreamt of the rain. He dreamt of it coming down outside the cabin in torrents, flooding the entire valley, until it became part of the ocean. Only John's cabin was left, somehow floating on the surface of the water like a ship. He pushed open the shutter, and saw the rain falling everywhere, in fat drops. It fell against the roof and the walls in a rhythm, like a pattern he couldn't pin down, or music.

The sky outside the cabin was gray and endless, but inside, there was a golden light. Everything was warm and dry, and he was happy.

*

John woke to nothing but quiet. He was stretched diagonally across his bed, blanket kicked onto the floor, and blinked at the ceiling, trying to remember... something. Whatever it was, though, it was gone. Then he realized: an empty bed.

He stood up and looked around the cabin. He was alone. Everything appeared the same -- fire burning low, bowls on the table -- and he started to tell himself not to panic, when he realized Rodney's clothes were gone.

He sank back down onto the bed, cradling his head in his hands. "Not _again._"

And that was when he heard voices outside. He crossed the cabin in two steps, flung open the door, and breathed out a huge sigh. Outside, Ronon and Rodney stood in the early morning sunlight. Rodney was holding baby Emma, with one of her tiny hands wrapped around his finger. While he looked utterly uncomfortable, there was still a wonder in his eyes. Ronon looked up when John walked outside, and raised a hand in greeting. "Hey."

"I'm meeting Miss Emma." Rodney spoke without taking his eyes off her face.

John smiled at Ronon, and tilted his head toward Rodney. "You sure you trust him with your baby?"

Rodney's head snapped up. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice a loud stage whisper. "I have a perfectly acceptable track record with babies, thank you very much."

"McKay," Ronon asked, "how many babies have you held?"

Rodney hesitated. "Including this one?"

When he and John chuckled, Rodney continued, his tone huffy, "I happen to know quite a lot about children. Just because my knowledge is mostly academic and my own personal experience doesn't extend to any children under four does not mean that I am a danger to this baby!"

And that's when Emma let out a wail, and Rodney started like he'd been shot. Ronon glanced over at John with a smirk and gathered Emma into his arms. "I believe you, Rodney. I think she misses her mother."

"Oh, I'm sure that's it," John said, nodding his head.

"I hate you both."

As Ronon walked away, John looked up at the sky. "Looks like the storm has passed."

"Yes."

"Think it might be a good day for a test flight?" John asked with a grin.

"I don't know," Rodney said, crossing his arms. "The weather looks right, but I'm not sure I want you using my glider now."

"I thought it was _my_ glider?"

"My design, my work, _my_ glider."

"Give it up, McKay." John said, edging towards the forest. "You want to see if it can fly as much as I do."

Rodney took a step in his direction, and that was all the confirmation he needed. "I should have used that material to make a waterbed. It certainly couldn't be any worse for my back than that hay bale you sleep on."

John raised an eyebrow. "You could do that?"

"I don't know," Rodney said. "Probably. I built a flying machine. I'm very impressive."

"We don't know if it flies, yet, McKay."

Rodney sighed. "Fine. Let's go fly the damn thing already."

*

It was late in the morning by the time they maneuvered the glider out of the forest to the cliffs overlooking the beach, where Rodney spent another twenty minutes going over the controls with an increasingly eager John. "I've got it, McKay."

"This isn't the same as flying a plane or a helicopter, Sheppard."

"I know that, McKay." John said. "I have done this before." That was a lie, but if McKay could claim academic knowledge as experience with children, John didn't think this was so different.

"Fine." Rodney stepped out from under the wing, and walked over to the edge of the cliff. He leaned out just far enough to look down, and then walked back to where John stood. "You realize this is crazy, right?"

"You built it, McKay!"

"Right, but... that's a long drop if something goes wrong. We don't have the proper electronic equipment, or even a parachute."

"I'll be fine, McKay. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"All right. I'll wait at the landing site. Remember, this is only a test run." Rodney started toward the path down to the beach, and then turned back. "John?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

*

The launch was terrifying in a way he didn't realize he'd been missing. John started twenty or so yards back from the cliff edge, got a good running start and then jumped, lifting his legs up and over to sit on the front bar. The whole glider dipped and shook, and for a horrible moment, John was actually afraid it wouldn't work.

But then the wind rushed in, filling the curve of the wings and pulling him up, and up, and up. John leaned experimentally to the left, and the whole glider moved with him, like it was a part of him. Ahead of him, the ocean swung into view, big and blue and stretching out as far as he could see. John leaned right, and suddenly, he was looking down at the whole valley. He could see his cabin and his field, and the village center. He could see the beach, winding along the ocean for miles.

The whole sky was wide and blue and empty, and _his_. He only realized there were tears in his eyes when he couldn't see anymore.

He was _flying_.

*

The landing was just as terrifying as the launch had been. He'd guided the glider in a giant loop, aiming at the spot where Rodney had drawn a giant 'X' in the sand. Even if he hadn't, by the time John was ready to land, Rodney was standing on the beach, waving his arms. Thick cables ran from the front of the wings to the bar he sat on, and when he pulled on them, the front of the glider angled down, which in turn slowed him down. John thought he'd got the hang of it, but he still overshot the mark by quite a lot.

"Oh, shit!" John knew he was coming in too fast, but there wasn't time to correct it. The trees at the edge of the beach loomed larger in front of him, and all he could do was look for a good place to bail out. He finally jumped while still quite a ways off the ground. He did his best to tuck and roll, but when he landed, he felt something in his ankle snap, and pain spread up his leg like hot lava.

He landed on his back, halfway under a leafy bush, and he didn't move. He just laid there, trying to catch his breath, when everything hit him at once. The laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside him; he couldn't control it. He laughed until his stomach hurt as much as his ankle did, and tears rolled down the sides of his face.

Just as he was starting to calm down, Rodney came running through the woods and nearly tripped over him, which sent him into peals of laughter again.

"John?" Rodney dropped to his knees beside him, his eyes frantic. "John! Are you okay?" He ran his hands over John's chest and arms, checking for injuries. "Where are you hurt? And oh my god, why are you _laughing_?"

"McKay," John said, panting. "You'll be happy to know the glider does fly."

"Yes, jackass, I saw that. Well, I did, until you decided to go off-roading."

"I, however, am another story." John struggled to sit up, hissing at a fresh, hot pang of hurt in his ankle. "I seem to drop like a rock."

"You are a _crazy person._."

"You're one to talk!" John said, smiling.

"Listen, I warned--" Before Rodney could really build up a full head of steam, John wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and leaned in for a kiss. It was sloppy and only landed half-way on Rodney's lips, but it didn't matter, because it was only a moment before Rodney was kissing him back. His hands slid up John's arms and into his hair, and he was kissing John like it was something necessary. It was maybe not the most romantic first kiss, John thought, but given their relationship, he couldn't imagine a better one.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting. Rodney looked completely stunned, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed. "What was _that_ about?"

"You built a flying machine," John replied. "You're very impressive."

"Oh, great." Rodney stood up, looking down at John. "Did you hit your head, too?"

John grinned up at him. "No. But maybe the future's not such a bad place, after all."

* * *

**Epilogue**

~ Two Weeks Later ~

The cave was dark and quiet once again.

The remains of the mysterious console that had occupied Rodney for so long sat forgotten on the gate room floor.

The display, which was still connected to the SGC power supply somewhere inside the mountain, sprang to life. Symbols cycled across the screen, one after another, until it finally stopped on one symbol.

The symbol was actually an Ancient word, and it was something even the Atlantis team would have recognized.

'Wraith'.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the apocalyptothon challenge. Many thanks to celli &amp; scrunchy for the beta. This story was originally inspired by (Nothing But) Flowers by Talking Heads.


End file.
